


Kids and fun, with Karkat and Vriska

by enigmaticme



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, F/M, Fingering, Handcuffs, Knotted bulges, Knotting, Quadrant Vacillation, Roleplay, Somewhat, Spanking, Xenophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-08
Updated: 2013-05-08
Packaged: 2017-12-10 19:31:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/789336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigmaticme/pseuds/enigmaticme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-hivebent.</p><p>Karkat and Vriska, already ensconced in the intrepid, obsidian throes, have something of a silly roleplay date. It quickly turns lurid, and that's all that much sweeter when he has her in handcuffs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kids and fun, with Karkat and Vriska

You're at something of a loss on how this all started. The two of you were enemies. And friends. And ultimately rivals. You had thought you hated a certain Vriska Serket. And maybe that much is true. Honestly, the lines between quadrants always got muddled with you.

Your name is Karkat Vantas, and right now, you and who you believe to be your kismesis are decked out in the dorkiest kind of duds, her in her overcoat and other pirate phernalia, you in something resembling a uniform, replete with brass. You're rather fond of those chevrons, actually. They're nice. She promised to never use her manipulatory powers on you, for the sake of keeping things fair enough. Not that you minded it, on some occasions. It was pretty fulfilling, being so totally under her control. You know you wouldn't appreciate it all the time, but she knew when the mood was right for such a thing. Not right now of course, you think, while parrying her Gamblignant's sword (a replica, and not as deadly as a real one). You put up a good fight, not backing down from each strike, from every strike. She's stronger than you, you're aware. However, you make up for it by never meeting her blows directly, content to yield to her swipes, using the hook of your sickle to maneuver the blade away from your body.

"MARQUISE, YOU LODELICKING, CHUTEHUFFER. YOU'RE FLEET IS IN TATTERS, AND YOUR CREW HAS ALL BUT ABANDONED YOU. I DID THIS. I DID THIS ALL ON MY OWN, ON A FUCKING WHIM. STOP RESISTING, AND I'LL MAKE YOUR PUNISHMENT A LITTLE BIT MORE BEARABLE."

The corner of her mouth flickers into a grin, before she feigns a scowl. "Vantas, your words mean nothing to me! It's just a piss poor excuse to let out all that hot air, hahahahahahahaha!"

You advance while she speaks, swinging your sickle towards her abdomen. Of course, she blocks it artfully. The two of you are getting tired from this, making mistakes here and there. You manage to catch the front of her shirt, actually targeting that bit of cloth (you both knew this would probably turn into something lurid, it was an impossibility for it to be anything else) and rip the cloth down her front, taking her bra with it. She covers herself up, flushing that cobalt that you so adore in her face. It actually puts YOU at more of a disadvantage, as she acclimates, thrusting her chest forward to. Erm. Distract you.

It works, for a little while, but her gambit fails. You use the promise of something sexual to spur you on, becoming more aggressive, swinging faster. Your perversion gives you a second wind, and for a moment, she's impressed. It falls in your favor when you manage to shoulder check the shit out of her, bringing her to the ground.

==>

Your name is Vriska Serket, and right now, you're laying down face-first on an absurd human mattress. He has your ass raised up in the air, your arms securely locked behind your back with a pair of hand cuffs, all wrapped up like a pretty, little parcel. There's a large part of you that hates it. Hates him FOR it. And you love it.

"OH, HOW THE MIGHTY HAVE FALLEN." He chuckles smugly. The bastard. You half want to deck him in the face, and half want to ride him until you're sore. The latter half is becoming slightly MORE than half, as her digs his fingers into your bony ass. "F8CK Y8U!!!!!!!!"

Red in the face, showing you that he's just as new to this as you are, he presses forward, letting his bulge press up against your rump. Ugh. It was almost as though he was FASCIN8ED with it or something. Not... that you minded, in particular. The attention was nice.

His hand comes up to grope her cheeks, and you flush even harder, as he massages you there.

"IN DUE TIME, MARQUISE. HOWEVER, I THINK IT'S TIME YOU LEARNED YOUR PLACE. APOLOGIZE FOR YOUR ATTITUDE, OR ELSE."

Of course, you refuse with a slew of curses.

Just as he wanted.

Just as you wanted.

His hand comes back, smacking your ass with an open palm. It stung, and it was humiliating, but it didn't hurt in an unpleasant way at all. Endorphins race through your bloodstream, and you shake your butt at him to egg him on. He complies, slapping you again in the same spot. You squeal, just a little, feeling your own bulge twitch in anticipation. God, you wanted him to get over with it already. This was torture.

==>

You have her trousers off, along with her overcoat, and the tattered remains of her shirt and bra. She's sitting there, in nothing but her (lacy. He feels somewhat insulted that she had already known where THIS was going. Ah, well.) underwear. There's already a dripping of cerulean down her thigh, her rump deep blue from the abuse. "K-Karkat, hurry the f8ck up already, god." She is SUCH a mess. It's beautiful, really. He slips his fingers in past her panties, the tips of his fingers probing at her heat. It's nothing compared to his, and she shudders as his warmth pours into her. You grin down at her, impish in all your ways at this moment.

You lean forward, nipping the tip of her pointed ear. "BEG FOR IT, FIRST, YOU FILTHY FUCKING HARLOT."

She shivers, resting her head on the mattress, defiance still burning brightly in her eyes.

"You'll go fuck yourself 8efore /I/ 8eg, Vantasshole!" It was all a ploy, really. You know that if she wanted to, she could reverse this entire situation in the blink of an eye. Already, you can feel her in your mind. Not doing anything. Just... observing. That's the best part, you think. She's doing it to know what you're thinking. What you're feeling. There's a... pleasantness, you think, when she feels that you're enjoying this just as much as she is. And also... a sort of darkness. Because you KNOW she's going to get revenge for this. You might as well enjoy it while you can.

You pull her up against you, letting your bulge free from the costume you had been wearing, her petite chest almost begging to be groped. A begging that you adhere to, as you grope her with one hand, pulling her panties off with your other. She, awkwardly, steps out of them, and it gives you access to her entire backside. Which. Just. God damn. There's a small, mental chuckle, as you think "How'd I get so lucky?". You think she's laughing because of her title.

She's laughing because she's thinking the same thing.

==>

You're run ragged by the time he plunges into you. He waits. He always waits. It's the anticipation, you've found, that he enjoys the most. The "just before". It's glorious. You're filled to the brim, moaning like a bitch in heat, making the effort to resist him some. But you're not resisting that hard, and the both of you know it. You think he's still nervous, evidenced by the way his hands are restless, always feeling some part of you. It's nice. But you want him to be comfortable with this. Sometimes the line between your black back-handings get muddled by how much you pity him. And by how much he pities you. His fingers fondly the tip of your breast, and you give him a pleasant, and not COMPLETELY fake moan. Confidence surges through him, and the entirely warm feel of his hand on your bulge makes it all that much sweeter.

His hips shift against your ass, and he begins pounding into you, over and over and over and OVER again. Now the squealing is real enough, and you can't help but press yourself up against him, trying to feel MORE. Oh god, you always want more. He presses his torso against your back, pistoning himself inside of your slick heat, fucking you in the most deliciously desperate of ways.

Ironically, it's the quietest he's ever been. You think, and with a quick confirmation in his mind, know, that it's because he's paying attention to you. In everything, really. Every noise, every movement, he is very nearly obsessive in his attention. You revel in it.

==>

She contracts around your cock, her lips wrapped wonderfully around the base of it, and you shove the rest of yourself in, the knot at the base inflating to lock the two of you together. She screams. It's loud, and dulcet, and you want fucking MUSIC made out of that. It crescendos, followed by the languid moans caused by your white-hot, candy red shooting into her, filling her up even more than you are. The two of you stay there, like that, locked together in post-coital bliss, until you're soft enough to slip out. You pull out the filial pail (She smirks at that. "How scandalous. Did you REALLY think this was going to happen?") You roll your eyes at her, and shut her up by fingering the material out of her sore cunt. The bucket fills up with a beautifully contrasting of scarlet and cobalt. Had the drones still been a thing, you would have had no problem handing this to them. Even if it meant you would have been culled.

The cuffs come off, along with the rest of both of your clothes, and she tugs you (Rather forcibly. Unnecessarily forcibly. You would have done it yourself anyways.) into a cuddle. She always gets like this. You have absolutely no problem with it.

The two of you sleep, without even needing the influence of the sopor slime. It's pleasant. Neither of you even question which quadrant this is.


End file.
